


Heartlines

by iloveyoudie



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Beards (Facial Hair), Canon Timeline, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Slice of Life, Smoking, Sweet/Hot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3397664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of pieces following the journey of my Inquisitor Lavellan and the development of her relationship with Blackwall via plot progression. Slices of life, drabbles, perhaps some steamy stuff.</p>
<p>For anyone curious of her appearance - http://imgur.com/a/rVElG</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Lady Lavellan.” Blackwall nodded to her as she passed and the elven woman smiled back. He’d only been in Haven nigh on a week and finding his place here was still a work in progress.

“Warden Blackwall.” A small nod towards the horses indicated he was welcome to join her and the man straightened from his recline to fall into step beside her. It was useless attempting to speak as they strolled by the smithy and so words waited until she stopped and leaned over the fence, one foot hitched up on the bottom rail and the other one tip toed in an effort to reach her red hart’s snuffling nose.

Blackwall had been attempting to figure Ellana Lavellan out since she’d extended her invitation to him and in that short amount of days, he’d made no headway. She was unlike any woman he’d ever seen before. She was exotic to someone like him: dark skin and vivid emerald eyes,  _bald even_ , and so petite that she often looked like a mere girl next to someone like the Iron Bull. But her blades were swift and her strikes deadly and she made decisions that no mere girl could make. She laughed easily with soldiers and scullery maids alike, was polite and chaste with nobles, and slung insults and ribs as naturally as any mercenary. Perhaps he’d been in the woods too long, perhaps this was how they made women nowadays, but she was singular and _in_ _that_  he found her admirable.

She’d  _flirted_  with him (he’d thought) but then again how could he tell? She had a social ease that he lacked and while he wanted to say that youth was on her side, Blackwall had no idea how old she truly was. An elven hunter, an assassin to be specific. How much had those eyes seen?

Everytime he spoke to her he felt below her. Blackwall felt lacking, like he needed to apologize for something, anything, to deem himself worthy of whatever acceptance and kindness she offered. Already the weight of his own secrets weighed down on him. He wanted to apologize for keeping them. As each day drew on, each time she called him Warden,  _he wanted to apologize…_

But apologizing for  _nothing_  was foolish, perhaps for choking on his own tongue when she coyly invited him to her quarters? Her laugh at his shock had been playful and genuine and she’d slapped him on the shoulder like an old friend. The man had been left slightly flustered, very flattered, and feeling just a tad ridiculous for momentarily even thinking that she may have been serious. She’d called himcharming with affection in her voice and a lilting laugh on her lips. He’d merely bumbled.  _Yes_ , an apology for nothing would only make him feel more foolish, more like an old codger; more like a sorry dog at her feet.

The fact that she was comfortable here, now, tending her mount with him in complete silence also spoke volumes of her character. Blackwall could see why many joined her with little question. She was enigmatic to be sure and at least for the moment he would continue to dedicate himself to this cause. _She_  was worth following.

“Are you really the Herald of Andraste?” The words had tumbled out before he could second guess if they were offensive in some way but the elf gave him nothing more than a bemused look.

“Me?” The hart was ignored now so she could lean on the fence and the lady turned to face her bearded companion. Her head canted gently to the side and her full lips quirked, “A  _dalish elf_  is the Herald of Andraste?”

“I didn’t mean to offend my lady.” Blackwall bowed his head but appreciated her humility. At least she wasn’t claiming to be a god.

“No no..” The Herald laughed at his formality and swatted his arm, “and  _please_ , call me Ellana.”

Blackwall straightened, his mouth setting formally as if being on familiar terms with her was some gravely weighted duty but the continued delight in her eyes again made the man feel more like a sorry fool. Blackwall set himself, shoulders relaxing, and leaned back against the fence. “Ellana then..” And he ventured a smile, a mere rise of mustache, and is surprised to see it puts her at ease.

“I don’t feel like the herald of anything if I’m to be truly honest, Warden.” Ellana picked at the sleeve of her velvet tunic and smoothed her hand across the soft fabric as if it were a foreign substance. Perhaps it was to her? The lush velvet was clearly a trapping provided by the Advisors, and he had to admit it suited her.  

“Blackwall.” His brows bobbed upward and he gave her an expectant smile. “You can just call me Blackwall.”

“Blackwall.” Ellana confirmed and grinned back. She is so bright and so easy. He’s envious of the natural ease in everything about her. “What do you think of our little operation? My illustrious advisors? Partners in crime?”

“Ah,” this he could talk about, “not as many troops as I’d hoped. It’s a small town turned to a military complex but you do well with what you have.” Blackwall turned to glance at the templars sparring outside the gates, Cassandra fiercely abusing training dummies and Cullen’s scrutinizing eyes on them all, “I believe you’ve got everything in good hands. Cullen is a good man,” a man he felt he could relate to, “and Leliana is…”

“Kind of scary?” Ellana leaned to him with a secretive smile and whispered not-so-sneakily.

Blackwall found himself caught up in the moment of mutual conspiracy and leaned in as well. He chuckled low, “No not..”

“She’s  _a_ _bit_  scary. Come on.”

Blackwall’s finger rose to his lips and barely held back a rumbling chuckle. He winked. “Careful, my lady, or she’ll hear you.”

Her laugh was full, enough to result in a head toss, and Ellana suddenly covered her mouth and pressed her own finger to her lips. “Some little bird is flying to her  _right now_  to rat us out.” She teased.

Blackwall found himself caught up in her delight though he attributed the nervous flutter in his chest to his own long-standing, self imposed hermitage. The first woman with a kind word for him and he was already becoming fond, too fond. It wasn’t appropriate.

“I should return to my duties..” He sighed and stood up straight after a beat. “Unless you needed anything?”

“Nothing immediate. Thank you, Blackwall.” But when he turned to leave her hand grabbed his sleeve, “Oh! I’ll be heading out with a party in the morning. Storm Coast. Bandit encampments.. red lyrium.” She waved her hand, indicating this to be the norm, “Perhaps we could find you those Warden Artifacts?”

“Oh.” Blackwall blinked in surprise. He hadn’t thought his request would be taken so immediately into consideration. He was sure Leliana had some of her spies that could have crept around the hills to search. The flutter inside him rose again. He pointedly ignored her wording - that this was  _for him._

Ellana tilted her head, taking his momentary pause as reluctance. She squeezed his arm gently, earnestly, and attempted to convince him, “I could use a strong shield arm.” She then seemed to think, pause, and her eyes darted almost shyly away before they locked suddenly and surely onto his own. “ _I’d like_  you to join me. Will you be my shield, Warden Blackwall?”

Convincing was unneeded. The wording, the request, was like a solemn proposal. Something in her gaze and the assurance that this was something  _she_ _wanted_  burned a hole in him. Blackwall bowed his head a moment in agreement, “Of course my lady.. and thank you.”

“Oh  _stop it_ with the ‘my lady’ _.._.” She laughed softly at the warden’s formality but seemed relieved he agreed. Ellana released his arm and Blackwall felt the gentle lingering weight of her hand even when it was gone. “I’ll speak to you soon.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Redcliffe, having stopped Alexius and freed the mages.

The Inquisitor returned from Redcliffe with only moments to spare before heading to close the rift. When they returned, it was to celebration. Buzz of what she’d done had spread like wildfire through the improvised warcamp.

_Herald of Andraste!_   
_Time Magic!_   
_Magisters and Demons!_

None seemed to realize, not yet, that her smile was a static facade. The true events clung to her every thought, muddled reality around her with an edge of unease that bordered on distrust. It was as if this _weren’t_  the real world she’d returned to, because she’d been through it and the horrors of that false future were real to her. She had been there, seen things, watched her friends’ sacrifice and then… it was simply gone. The thought burdened her mind like a bad dream refusing to leave, clinging all day and pressing on every thought even though it was simply  _a dream_. She still physically felt the _wrongness_  of that other time, the hungry feeling of red lyrium that made her skin crawl and the smell of rot as everything wasted away around the offensive crystalline growths. She could still see bodies half melded into stone - glowing red, long deceased - clothing shredded and caught, hanging on what may have once been a maid or a soldier. When she closed her eyes she still saw her friends, Blackwall, Bull and Leliana, sacrificing themselves for her without a moment’s doubt or hesitation.

_For her._

The return back to Haven cued immediate celebration but it didn’t sit well with the ‘Herald’. Ellana knew that this was only the beginning. The wrongness of that future still crept into her bones. To her, those had been genuine losses, fallen soldiers in this war.

She never handled losses well.

The elven woman was suddenly afraid of what she meant to them, afraid of the faith they were putting in her, and afraid (very very suddenly) of what they all had begun to mean  _to her_.

There was a panicked need to be back in the forest, to lay on green turf and look into the sky and connect to the clean  _present_. Her feet wanted to take her away, silent and stealthy, beyond the walls until caution could be thrown to the wind and she could run. She’d run far and long until it was nothing but her and the uncorrupted wilderness. But how long, even then, before she ran into a rift.. or a darkspawn.. or a red templar?

She wanted to forget seeing Iron Bull, the unshakeable mountain, corrupted but still standing. He’d thought she’d died and still stayed so strong. Leliana battled to her last, never even questioning the bizarre circumstances, and remained unshakable in her faith. The elven woman could barely even approach the wrenching feeling in her gut when she found Blackwall. He seemed broken by her death but reliably steadfast (always) when she needed him. Why was it him, above them all, that affected her so strongly?

The stifling feeling set in again and her feet itched to move. The hunter slipped away from the festivities quietly as the Inquisition members found their places of entertainment for the evening. Some went to the tavern to get the night started, others set in for a bit of music.

_It still felt wrong._

Ellana knew that she was too passionate. She’d always felt  _too_  strongly and been  _too_  impulsive. She’d mellowed as she aged but internally roiled with constant _feelings_  that fueled everything she did. Her anger was fiery, her lust all encompassing, her laughter was always full, and her loyalty was unwavering. Once trust was given it was given fully, which meant that sadness was also dark and deep. This Inquisition may temper her, could perhaps harden her, but that day had not yet come.

The events at Redcliffe  _would not_  leave her. Even when she was past it, the memory would stick there somewhere in her mind and she would never ever forget them.

Outside the gates she walked in natural silence and grace: past the soldiers sharing drinks around a fire, past the gentle neighing mounts in the stable, and past the billowing forges without casting her glance anywhere but ahead. She didn’t notice Blackwall and the smithy discussing more comfortable gauntlets for the warden’s armor. She missed the stable boy rushing through his final duty so he could run off to party. Instead she stayed straight on until she found a small rocky outcropping on the edge of the frozen lake.

It was comforting to start a fire for herself, small and safe, a task to keep her mind occupied. She didn’t need magic to make something from nothing. The elf sat back when it was finished and basked in the miniscule hand-made accomplishment for just a moment before a chill breeze rippled over her thin body. If not for her paranoia of attack she’d have made a larger, warmer blaze but danger was always present and here she wasn’t sheltered by the walls.

“Should’ve made it larger..” Ellana whispered to herself.

“Should’ve made it larger.” A rumbling familiar tone spoke simultaneously over her shoulder and had the elf jolting with surprise, her stomach sent into both relieved and nervous somersaults.

“Blackwall.” The dark skinned woman turned to face him only to find his heavy quilted coat set galantly around her shoulders. The lingering heat of it sunk into her quickly and she momentarily sagged in relief from the cold. She met him with a faint smile and took a moment to appreciate the sight of him without it. He was broad and solid, and she was treated to a rare view of his thick corded forearms lined with silver scars and the barest reveal of salt and pepper hair dusted across his broad chest through the open collar of his linen shirt. Even in her melancholy and reflection, she could appreciate the man with secret pleasure. “Thank you.”

Blackwall seemed to pause just a moment before sitting beside her. She’d wanted to be alone but instead found herself sinking into the smell and feel of this coat and the security of his presence only inches from her side. It wasn’t odd for them to spend time together and the frequency in which he accompanied her out into the field seemed to be raising eyebrows. She didn’t care. He was an accomplished warrior, a powerful ally, and she found his defense of her much more stalwart than Cassandra’s (though she’d never tell the woman).

The remembrance of Redcliffe still clung to her skin but the sickly encompassing corruption was suddenly blocked by the smell of earth and sweat and leather. On the collar she discovered the smell of ale, maybe stray splashes, all under the peculiar aroma she’d call ‘concentrated blacksmith. Ellana had discovered very suddenly that Blackwall  _grounded_  her. Her eyes closed a moment and she unabashedly basked, without thought of judgement, in this living connection that was holding her  _in the now_. 

“Are you sniffing my coat?” Blackwall had an upnote of amused wonder in his voice.

The Herald’s stomach bloomed hotly with girlish embarrassment, not that she’d forgotten he was there, but to be so soundly caught and called upon for it. To the elven woman’s credit, she was always quick to shake it off, unstricken by feeling a bit foolish. Her head rose a bit out of the collar (she realized she must look like a child, the coat was so big, was he chuckling at her? She’d never seen that look on his face before).

Ellana put on a cool, affected tone, “Your galantry is simply  _being appreciated_ , Warden Blackwall. Thank you.” She softened then and her voice was gentle and genuine. “Really. Thank you.”

Blackwall’s face imperceptibly shifted, his brows angling in concern. He’d been there with her at Redcliffe but to him it was all a very flashy parlor trick. She and the Tevinter had disappeared, there was a sickening moment of panic, and then they had returned.

He asked what everyone had, anyone with the balls to ask, “Was I there with you? In the future?”

Ellana nodded, “You were brave.” She looked into her small fire and pulled his coat tighter around herself. She felt him shift, his arm resting on the ground slightly behind her, and the elven woman scooted just that bit closer to the crook of his arm. “You died a hero.” It was a safe answer.

“At least I did some good in the end.” The bearded man adopted a wounded distant look and she noted how natural such a burden took to his features.

“You don’t have to die for me.” Ellana spoke suddenly, almost insistenly, and looked at her hand. There was a ripple over the palm before the mark crackled and disappeared again. She could almost will it if she wanted. “I’m just an elf in unusual circumstances. I  _understand_  that I’m the only one who can do this,” she clenched her hand and released it as if it were a foreign thing, a weapon that needed moderating. “But I’m not sure I’m the leader everyone expects… and I’m certainly no Herald.”

Blackwall didn’t respond immediately. She’d expected some inspirational, lectured rebuttal but instead his low voice inquired otherwise. “Does it hurt? The mark?”

“Not so much.. it’s hard to describe.” Ellana didn’t think twice when she reached out and took his larger hand. She turned it over and rested hers on top. “It doesn’t feel like anything at all if it’s not..” The rogue waggled her other fingers to indicate magic. Or something.

Blackwall looked a bit fascinated, sitting up (now that it was offered) and turning her hand over delicately. He handled her as if she would break, despite the swathes of death he’d seen her carve with those daggers of hers. His large calloused thumbs gently pressed along her palm where the mark usually flared, and the nervous quiver in her belly returned.

When he was finished Blackwall sandwiched her small cool hand between his own and gave it a rub to warm it up. His voice was strong and reassuring, “If the me in that future chose to die for you, it was because he believed in you. He believed you would fix what went wrong.”

She found herself suddenly locked in his stormy eyes, in the rumbling timbre of his voice. Each word and kind gesture cemented her further to the here and now.

“And here you are now. Alive. You saved everyone from a future that didn’t have to happen. He did his duty and I’m grateful to him for it.” Blackwall released her hand and she felt a sudden yearning for the warm compression of his again.

Ellana let a silence settle in and finally the feel of red lyrium and damp stone walls was nothing more than a memory. She much more sneakily inhaled the scent of Blackwall from his collar, to avoid being called on it, but she felt much more together than she’d been moments before.

“Sometimes I get restless. I have to just  _go_. Get away. I need to just run into the woods and…” Ellana paused. “The walls are like..”

“A jail.” His voice was solemn.

“Yes! And the people are..”

“Too loud. Too…. everywhere.” The warden echoed everything she was thinking.

“Yes..” She breathed in relief and a soft laugh slipped loose, despite herself, at the revelation of common ground between the warden and herself. Blackwall also seemed more at ease. She looked at him coyly over the coat collar, the distingushed man set against firelight and night sky. He looked every bit what she expected when Leliana revealed she’d ‘found a grey warden’ but there was more to him. She learned more every day. More than simple a noble-intentioned veteran.

“I’ve traveled by myself a long time, milady. You get a bit used to the quiet.” There was something resigned about how he said it that pooled miserable and tepid in her belly.

Her previous despondence had shifted. She didn’t want Blackwall to feel alone, at least not while he was here. She piped up with hope rediscovered, “We all need companionship eventually. In the clan, no matter how long we may need to be away, we always know where we belong.”

Ellana had gained some revelations about her situation, small ones and some painful ones, but she was realizing how much all of her companions had begun to mean to her. She was also sifting through how she felt about  _him_  in particular. Should it be a passing infatuation or something more, it wouldn’t do to have him get so maudlin. “I probably sound idealistic but.. sometimes it helps to know that you belong  _somewhere._ ”

“Is _that_  where you belong? With your clan?” Blackwall asked curiously. When had he last belonged anywhere?

“For the moment,” Ellana scooted the last inch to his side and her deliberate lean was met by Blackwall’s large arm bracing behind her back. There was just a moment where he tensed with insecurity but the woman was already settled and he was stuck, “I belong here.”

“Here at the Inquisition?” There was implication in his question, in their current situation, that she was avoiding pointedly.

“If you like.” Was the elf’s vague response as her face sunk into the coat again. A beat of silence stretched before she countered, “Where do  _you_  belong, Ser Blackwall?” There was coyness to her tone.

“Well milady,” his lips quirked, “you _did_  ask me to be your shield.”

She had. And beyond the figurative comfort and grounding he gave her, Blackwall had become fully entrenched as her designated defender. Between him and Iron Bull, she had her own personal brute squad. Ellana suddenly remembered the look on everyone’s face when she arrived to Redcliffe flanked by both imposing men. ‘They go where I go’ she’d quipped toughly.

It was priceless.

Ellana’s tone took a light turn, she cast him playful glances. “I  _did_  ask that, didn’t I? I suppose you are performing….  _admirably.”_

“Admirably!? Fuckin hell, I better work on that…” Blackwall groaned with a chuckle.

The herald released a laugh that worked loose whatever heaviness still settled in her chest. It unravelled like a ball of yarn, in a cascade of snickering that made her miss the warden grinning behind his beard.

She sat up as her amusement ebbed away and reluctantly left her comfortable imposition on him. It was warm and nice (too nice) but all good things had to come to an end (why?).

“I should go back.” Ellana looked up the path to the smithy, the soldiers and the walls lit from behind with dancing shadows and sounds of music. There was a burst of laughter from the tavern and the very distinct sound of a particular qunari mercenary bellowing.

“I’m sure Cassandra’s knickers are all in a twist that you’re missing at all. I can take care of the fire for you.” Blackwall stood and offered his hand, “Lady Lavellan.”

Ellana felt suddenly sheepish but took his hand and rose to her feet. She slid the large coat off of her shoulders and offered it back, though the chill breeze once more ripped across her lithe body.

“You can hold onto it if you’re cold.” Blackwall brows lifted.

Ellana handed it back anyway, almost positive it was his  _only coat_. He was treated with a teasing wink, “But Ser Blackwall what would they say? The Herald strolling through the camp in you’re clothes?” 

He thankfully handled this much better than her first flirtation with him, when he’d choked and coughed and fumbled endearingly around it, “What would they say indeed.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before and after the destruction of Haven

Blackwall watched the Herald walk silently past the camp. As the smithy detailed to him the benefits of ‘good ol’ fashioned IRON’ the warden’s eyes followed her. She had a haunted, wild look as if the sudden snap of a twig underfoot could send her darting out into the woods like a fleeing halla. She was an edgy, trapped thing and it worried him, and he  _knew_ that feeling.

——-

He’d given her his coat without thinking. The man had pledged her his shield, ‘her sheild’ she’d called him, and sometimes perhaps that shield was nothing more than a warm coat on slender shoulders. He’d never seen relief settle so swiftly and visibly onto anyone’s face, but Ellana’s feelings were always writ on her features for anyone to see.

Her shoulders rose and fell with deep breaths, eyes closed as she inhaled once… twice…  _Wait._

“Are you sniffing my coat?” He couldn’t hide the rumble of amusement in his voice.

Her eyes flew open with sudden and obvious guilt, and her lips formed a surprised ‘O’. Blackwall couldn’t help but laugh and had to admire her snappy recovery as her head rose proudly from the collar.

Prior to meeting her, he’d never imagined he would eventually find the mighty Herald of Andraste to be  _endearing._  It was a the kind of striking, anxious feeling from his younger days when every woman was fresh and new. When youth and time allowed for appreciating the simpler things like the wrinkle of her nose or the way her lips quirked slightly lopsided when she smiled (and,  _fuckin hell_ , he’d noticed both).

Since their first encounter she’d only been honest and open and he thought perhaps she was  _too_  goodfor this (he knew she was). Ellana was good at breaking down barriers, good with people, and they all adored her for it. Blackwall couldn’t even grasp what she found so interesting about him but he knew he was undeserving of whatever attentions she granted and whatever line the two of them seemed to toe closer and closer to.

She leaned into him and he hesitated. He would have to tell her the truth eventually… but for the moment he’d allow himself these harmless indulgences. The warden’s secrets piled higher by the day, festering more in his own mind every second he kept them. He would keep  _these_  moments then, selfishly and secretly for himself before they would be gone.

They would, inevitably, end.

He rubbed warmth into her hands. They are small and strong and quick. Power lay within them which wasn’t his to touch.

She talks to him of running free, getting away, being smothered, and he finds a surprisingly common thread between them. Does she know just how long and how far a man could run?

She talks of where they all belonged.

He tells her he is simply meant to be here, to be her shield (as  _his lady_  commands), and as he laments his years of lies, Blackwall finds himself now lamenting the truth.

—————————

Haven was lost.

 _She_  was lost.

Blackwall waited at the refugee camp like the hangman’s noose dangled, waiting, around his neck. The ground would any second flip open and let him fall and crack and break. He pulled his coat around him against the blowing mountain air, closed his eyes and he’s sure he smelled a bit of her on the collar.

The other companions sag equally in their worry and grief but his eternal pessimism convinces him she’s gone. None could face off to an archdemon alone and live.

But Blackwall, so convinced of her loss, worries only for himself and waits for the inevitable questions to come.

How had  _this_  Grey Warden not sensed an archdemon?

How would  _this_  Grey Warden lead them to slay it?

He remembered Ellana’s clear voice in his head, imparting her doubts and fears to him in confidence. She’d spoken to him of  _running_  and he wondered: if he slipped away now, how far he would get before they found him? How long before the truth of him is revealed?

He hadn’t even been capable of the one thing she’d required of him.. to be her shield.

——————

“She’s here!” The cry of discovery ripples down the mountain through the survivors. Cold, battered and exhausted they find a way to rise as Cullen carries her, quivering, to a tent.

His heart caught in his throat as everyone simultaneously leapt to their feet to hover in a taut state of mixed wonder, worry and disbelief. Solas joins the advisors and healers as they swarm her tiny shivering frame.

He stays, sits and stares at the fire as relief unravels the tension in his shoulders. Blackwall ran a hand tiredly over his face only to get a hearty slap on the back, wordless, from Bull.

The Herald was alive.  _Returned from the dead,_  the scouts are whispering.

He finds, very abruptly, that he  _believes._

Whether this was providence or chance, Andraste’s will or not, Blackwall has found a light to follow. He believes in  _her._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the battlements

Ellana, the Inquisitor now, was hiding. Or at least making an attempt to get away. They’d been in Skyhold only a few days and she wasn’t yet used to the towering, encompassing walls or the number of refugees, soldiers and courtiers that arrived by the day. She found herself needed  _(_ _more and more)_ and found herself making decisions in situations that she barely grasped. Without her steadfast advisors the elf would be quickly overwhelmed and she was sure the very walls of Skyhold would simply crumble to dust inside a month without them supervising.

Haven’s destruction was on everyone’s lips right alongside her new title. Each new elevation of her station seemed to lay a heavier cloak of responsibility on the woman’s shoulders. She was a  _hunter_.She could almost taste a time before this, setting out for the conclave with a lungful of fresh air and a very simple task. Now she was the Herald of a god she didn’t believe in and she was fighting a creature of myth. Good people had thrown their lives to her cause and paid the ultimate price.

Perhaps they were the lucky ones.

Each morning brought reports of rifts and skirmishes and growing danger. Red templars and Venatori. Each morning she was treated to a breakfast reading of how the world was spiralling out of control. There it all waited on her desk when she woke up, in a bed too plush and in sheets too soft. This wasn’t _her_.

 _But it is._  Something nagged in the back of her mind.  _And you are believing in some small way, Shemlen gods or no, that this was all providence._

Ellana couldn’t truly escape and the truth was that she  _did_  care too much to run. She  _did_  want to fix things and her own determination dictated that she would. So she hid just a while, as many spare minutes as she could snag, and sat on the edge of the battlements to appreciate what Skyhold really had to offer: a view.

——

Blackwall had seen the Inquisitor - a noble title indeed - slipping away. Ellana had a particular posture, a slight curl of her shoulders and a shift in her gaze that he’d discovered to be a prelude to her stealing away. He’d like to think he read any of her compatriots nearly as well but it would be a lie, one of many, to simply cover that his only concern was  _her_. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” He teased.

“Blackwall.” She turned to him with a wan smile and he noticed her tapping out a small wooden pipe. A gentle haze hung around her and an herbal, floral smoke scent. It wasn’t as heady as normal pipe leaf and he wondered if it was something especially elven.

“I don’t mean to disturb you, my lady. Just inspecting the fortifications.” Since she didn’t look bothered by his presence (she never did) he approached to lean against the stones beside the woman and look out. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

“Oh ah..” The Inquisitor handled her pipe lightly, almost dismissive. Had he stolen a precious secret from her? Everyone needed  _something_  and some needed it to be theirs alone. She wore a soft, guilty smile, “Only sometimes. To unwind. Josephine made contact with my clan and they sent some gifts to indulge me.”

In younger days a proud orlesian captain was known to enjoy a pipe with his feet up by the fire. Days when he had the time, and mind, to indulge in such luxury. That man seemed like a stranger now but the physical memory remained. There was something cathartic about heavy sweet smoke between his lips and the scent clinging to become an ever present cologne. He’d long since given up anything so decadent and relaxing. Blackwall wondered what her herbal mixture tasted like on the lips or smelled like on the skin.

“About Haven..” He forced himself back, voice taking a businesslike quality.

“I’m sorry.” She interrupted and Blackwall’s brow creased in concern for the apology. “I couldn’t save them all.”

He breathed deeply and closed his eyes a moment. “We lost good men and women that day but you did what you could. We all did what we could.” And Blackwall would continue to strive for her cause. It had begun as some sort of selfish redemption for the man but morphed very swiftly to become  _his_ cause as well.

“When he came after you, he made it personal.” The warrior barely noticed the growing insistence in his voice, the aggressive growl rumbling from his chest. It rolled like distant thunder on the horizon until it reached an angry head and Blackwall punched his hands together with purpose. “I swear I’ll take that twisted bastard down even if I have to die to do it.”

When Blackwall’s eyes fell back to Ellana she was standing beside him, hand on his arm, and her expression stole him completely. Her green eyes pinned him with a swirl of concern, flattery and (he wouldn’t try to ignore it anymore) adoration. All of them were undeserved.

“Blackwall..” The way she whispered his name, her small fingers tightening on his arm, just tore at him. He was unworthy of her adulation and barely worth her tolerance. She was a free and wild thing, adaptable and resourceful  _and_ _good_. She’d been the breath of life to a broken old man and he woulddie for her. She smiled a bit, that teasing expression with the lopsided smirk “Are you saying you have feelings for me?”

No matter how her face and touch made his stomach tumble, he couldn’t let her love a lie and whisper sweetly a dead man’s name.

“I am fond of you, it’s true.” Unfortunately for all his lying, the man’s face was transparent representation of all the difficulty of this conversation. Blackwall stepped back from her. “But we can’t let this go any further.”

A slow realization settled on her face and he kept talking, afraid that letting her speak would shatter his resolve. She’d gone from hopeful to near crushed in moments.

“This - whatever you want this to be - is impossible.” He took a few steps further from her pleading eyes. “I am and will continue to be your shield, my lady, and my affections may surely aid me in keeping you protected but…”

The inadvertent admittance seemed to cause her brow to crease in thought and lose the tinge of hurt. Blackwall wasn’t sure if he could continue should she choose to argue or press him. He just needed to explain in a way that would make sense. Any explanation but the truth would do.

“We’re both bound by duty. Our lives aren’t ours to live.” When he noticed her lips parted for speech, he couldn’t let her. If a single lilting sound came from her lips he would simply fall apart. Anguish writ suddenly all over his face. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

—————————————-

Ellana let him go without a word of protest. The man had as good as admitted his feelings for her, while simultaneously pushing her away. The soaring sensation of having her feelings returned had plummeted too suddenly to depths of confusion and hurt. Everytime she felt closer to him he seemed to erect another wall of self defense for her to scale. The irony of his name wasn’t lost on the elven woman and she suddenly laughed, a quick shocked bark of amusement.

It took the joke to snap her free of melancholy. Aside from the stress and pressure of their situation he was still  _a man_  and she was still  _a woman_. She remembered her mother telling her that men never knew what they wanted until a good woman showed them. Ellana would just have to show him. Perhaps she wasn’t taking Blackwall’s thoughts into account or perhaps she was simply being reckless (yet again), but the perils of romance were suddenly much more enticing and preferable to the dangers of The Game or even issues as simple as what heraldry was proper to hang in the great hall.

Ellana packed her small pipe again and by the time she was finished it, she’d decided to go and see him. The elf was nothing if not impulsive, always one of her greatest failings according to her keeper, so she felt no impropriety simply ignoring Blackwall’s pleas and pushing forward.

She found him in the stables chipping away at a rocking horse - rocking griffon - and when she inquired, his nonchalance about the hobby made her smile. Hadn’t she been the same about her smoking?

“Warden Blackwall.” His brows furrowed as she said it, “after what you said, I thought we should discuss your role here at the Inquisition.” Ellana was partly ribbing him, partly egging him to see how he would react, but his brows furrowed again and she felt immediately terrible about the tease. He looked as if she were about to kick him to streets.

His carefully constructed defenses chipped away like the wood he carved. Each second with him he shaped into more than the stalwart warrior, more than a shield she needed for battle. He seemed almost panicked when she proposed they speak of his position here.

Blackwall began to defend himself earnestly regarding their cause and why he was here, and how the Inquisition was nothing without  _her_  - the Herald. Ellana’s intention to pursue him so soon had only led to her once more into becoming  _enraptured_  by him. She’d meant to show him what he needed (her), but realized now that it was the other way around. Opening up even a little bit about his past just drew her further in. He spoke only briefly of his past, but never enough, and Ellana can only smile to have him share it now with her. She mirrored his smile when he speaks of the old chevalier who helped him in the grand melee, and she asked as many questions as allowed. Each word, to her, was a precious gift from him.

By the time his story ended and Blackwall turned away from the fire to face her, Ellana was fully engrossed by his furrowed brow and concerned eyes. He was strength, resolve and the ever romantic notion of mystery.

“Do you regret not going with him? The chevalier?” Ellana wondered aloud, almost afraid he’d say yes.

“Our paths may never have crossed if I’d went with that old chevalier..” Blackwall answered, steppung closer now. She had already been drawn in by his deep rocky tone and now stood held by his worried gaze. She wanted nothing more than to simply run her hands over his face and soothe the stress from his features. The warden’s tone became soft, “I could never regret this life, not with you in it.”

Her toes lift, a silly and momentary yearning, but she settled again when he asked her with a distracted, overcast expression, to accompany him to the storm coast.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bae finally comes around

Baths were one of the few indulgences of Skyhold that Ellana could truly appreciate. Her lifestyle had been a simple one before all this and she still sometimes had trouble sleeping in her plush bed after a lifetime of camping on the ground or in the constant movement of an aravel. Very few of the material luxuries in the keep held value for her, but a bath was something she could whole heartedly appreciate. There was nothing in the world like soaking in a hot tub to strip the damp and cold from her bones, even if it had been a few days ride back from the constant precipitation of the Storm Coast. Josephine had opened her eyes to scented oils recently and a single drop in her bathwater brought the gentle scent of aromatic grasses to mingle with the heavy steam in the room.

The elven woman sunk into the water and recounted their recent excursion to the Storm Coast. The memory of Blackwall’s face had burned into her mind as he’d stood on that hill glistening with misting sea rain. Another chink in his armor had appeared as he’d tried, in some small way, to convince her that he was unworthy of her caring. The carnage on that hill had long rotted away, but seeing his face you’d have thought every corpse had been fresh. She’d wondered anew what sort of man he’d been before now, or before the Wardens, and had long reconciled with herself that  _they all_  had secrets. Still, there in that moment, she’d truly thought he was going to share something with her, some secret of his life, but instead it was vague cloudy descriptions of pain and fighting and that wasn’t much of a secret.

"You don’t have to do it alone." Ellana had meant it. Blackwall had become a constant presence in her every day life. She found time to see him, sit with him and chat with him even if it meant a spar or heated debate on the best way to take down a hurlock. She knew,  _he’d admitted_ , that he had feelings for her but the man continued to be frustrating with his self pitying insistence that it was wrong. Ellana had a rebellious desire to give him what he requested, perhaps play hard to get, but he was a man of principle and she knew that petty games would just be foolish on her part. It was her childish side seeping in. He was right in some regards: she was The Inquisitor and people looked to her. Slowly her freedoms were being pushed aside, her wants and needs drifting to the background, and in their place were all the duties her role required. What Blackwall didn’t understand was that  _she needed him_  to help her remember that she was a woman, that someone - anyone, wanted her. Not the Herald. Not the Inquisitor. Just her.

The bath water had begun to cool as she mused so Ellana rose, dried, and dressed with the prospect of going to the tavern later. Her mind would continue to mill over the older warden and his motivations. Every conflicting feeling towards him, frustration - affection - stability - necessity - desperation, gathered in a tense knot deep in her chest. The elf packed a pipe by the fireplace, needing something to relax her, but as she turned from the fire she heard the tight stretch of leather boots and feet on the stones.

And there he was.

The tightly strung emotion that sat embedded in her chest seemed to unfurl, like a flower blooming, until she felt it in every extremity of her body.  Ellana, the strong minded huntress, found herself pinned in place with shock and surprise.  _He was_ _here,_  sooner than she expected. Her thoughts were a still a mess and every question she’d thought up - every argument for him she’d formulated - seemed to have fled with his arrival.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away..” She defaulted to false confidence in lieu of remaining tongue tied. Perhaps being the Inquisitor was teaching her bravado in the face of terror, whether it be ancient darkspawn…. or courtship.  

“No, I couldn’t,” Blackwall sighed and almost smiled. Her stomach flipped, “If only you know how confounding you are. How absolutely infuriating.”

She wanted to laugh, to agree or tell him he was the same, but instead she simply approached without thinking and he did the same. Anything she’d thought to say felt useless and trite. Ellana sensed that this moment was a turning point and she was terrified to screw it up.

“I wanted to thank you for accompanying me to that ruin,” he shook his head as his expression tightened, “I wanted to-” Blackwall’s voice softened and he sighed as their bodies met, barely touching chest to chest. “I just had to see you.”

Ellana moved without direction, and lifting herself on her toes she rejected words for action. Their lips met in a slow, needy kiss. She only had a sweet and tender second for a taste of how  _right_  it feltbefore he broke away. Her fingers settled and tightened against the front of his coat, not intending to allow him to flee.

“No,” Blackwall sunk into himself, though he didn’t truly retreat.  “This is wrong. I shouldn’t even be here.”

Ellana’s gaze dropped, just as his did, to her hands curled against his chest. She tightened her fingers and her nails gripped into the padded fabric. “It doesn’t feel wrong.”

“I want to give in. Maker knows I wish I could.” The elven woman became conscious of his hands on her hips but Blackwall never stepped away as he spoke. She could smell the perfume of wine on his breath, tasted it on his lips, and wondered if he’d needed liquid courage just to come up here. Blackwall’s fingers twitched on her thin hips, struggling with the decision to stay or go. “I’m not what you want.” How could his eyes seem so sad about something that felt like this? “I could never be what you deserve.”

“You’re wrong.” Ellana was done trying to convince him, there was no pleading in her tone. She simply told him as a solid fact. She was desperate for him to see himself as she did. “You’re a good man.”

“Am I?”

“I see it.”

“There’s nothing I can offer you. You’d have no life with me. But I-” His voice trembled and his expression sagged in desperation. “I need you to end this. Because I can’t.”

Ellana’s fingers gripped tighter, finding enough purchase in his coat to pull him gently towards her. “I’m not letting you go.”

Blackwall allowed himself to be guided, a mix of distress and relief writ on his features. “We’ll regret this my lady.”

Their faces hovered inches from one another and the elven woman sported a satisfied smile. She took the moment to savor his smell, the musk that had grounded her back at Haven when she felt like all she wanted to do was flee for the hills. She appreciated his warmth and strength and the solid mass of him under her hands. If he couldn’t end it, then the man would be stuck with her. She was not letting go. She needed this like  _breath_.

Ellana’s smile burst into a full grin before she leaned up on her toes to press her lips to his again. Blackwall returned the kiss, no matter how brief, and Ellana quietly hovered with the tip of her nose just brushing his. She gave him a coy look, “Do you regret that?”

The warden’s change in expression was immediate. Ellana felt her body burn under his eyes and she shifted in response to the smile that twitched the ends of his mustache. There, in that heated stare, the tension finally snapped and the pair embraced feverishly with grasping hands and tugging lips. The elven woman finally let go of his coat and draped her arms over his shoulders. Her nimble fingers walked over the back of his neck, sifted through his dark hair, and scratched lightly up into his scalp to elicit a pleased noise that rumbled from the man’s throat. Blackwall’s roaming hands traced the shape of her body and settled in a grip of her behind. He pulled her needily against him and she leaned eagerly into every press of his exploring palms. Even as they backed against the railing, the stone pressing harshly into the small of her back, Ellana’s kiss was unfaltering. With her fingers woven into his hair they broke apart, breathing hotly against each other’s lips.  

“Ellana..” He sighed her name like a prayer and an electric shiver shot up her spine hearing him say it _just like that_.

“If you try one more time to tell me this is a bad idea..” The dark skinned woman reproached him playfully and shifted on her toes against the barrier digging in her back.

“No.” Blackwall chuckled now, shifting as he noticed her discomfort with their location. “You’ve won that battle, my lady.”

“We’ve both won.” Ellana purred affectionately. They kissed again and Blackwall lifted her away from the railing. She was petite in comparison to him and her toes left the ground as the man spun her aside, lips still melded seamlessly together. She made a soft surprised noise that had him smirking against her lips and as her feet touched the ground Ellana could have swooned like one of Varric’s heroines.

“As much as I want this,” The warden had once more affected a concerned, reluctant tone and even with his breathlessness he put an inch of distance between their bodies. “I hope you don’t find me boring or old fashioned if I request we take it.. ah.. a bit slow.”

Ellana didn’t know whether to tease him or pinch his cheeks in amusement, so instead she laughed. The request was as simple and reasonable as could be. Even if she already ached for him. Even if she could feel the heat between their bodies. Her hands slid upwards to cup his face as she’d to wanted all this time. She caressed down his cheeks, smoothed across his beard and pressed a chaste kiss once more to his lips. It wasn’t enough to smooth away his worry or doubt, but she now knew she was allowed to try.

“Of the many things you are, boring is not one of them. Not with the hoops you’ve run me through.” Blackwall looked like he would apologize but she laughed and pressed a finger against his lips to silence him. His lips pursed at the contact before kissing her fingertip. She melted. “That’s fine with me.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get good finally

The agreement to take things slow had instead, more or less, taken things  _slowly around the room_. Heated, probing, tugging kisses had taken them to the chaise and had lost them both their jackets. Ellana had discovered that Blackwall rumbled his pleasure, growled it, and for each noise she roused from him he pressed to earn equal back from her. Blackwall found a spot on the curve of her slender neck that made Ellana pant and squirm when his lips and mustache brushed across and seeking those lilting sighs became a personal mission. She realized then how much more insistent he got when she panted in his ear, her breath washing across his neck, her lips and teeth dragging across the lobe. Blackwall almost vibrated under her lips and she could feel shivers run through him with each of her breaths. It was playful discovery, often fumbling around bunched up clothing, but they found it much easier to laugh than be embarrassed.

Ellana had found closed up earring holes and she noted to ask him about them when she wasn’t too busy making him groan under her mouth.

Blackwall’s wandering hands, sliding and gripping and rubbing her lithe body, had found a tickle spot on her rear that made the elf yelp, scramble slightly backward and huff at him with kiss swollen lips.

“You’ve  _got_  to be ticklish.” Her eyes narrowed in a daring challenge. He was laughing at her. “ _Everyone_ is ticklish somewhere.”

“Oh no no…” The warden shook with deep chuckles, palms lifting defensively and eyes wide to her threat. His back straightened in retreat but there was no escape with the woman straddling him. A tussle ensued, him batting away her searching fingers, Ellana poking and prodding and testing. She was a fierce combatant, slippery and fast, which he could only counter with his size and strength. He pinned her arms to her sides with a triumphant, “HA!” and lifted the dark-skinned woman from the chaise and off of her feet into a tight bear hug. Amidst the laughter (and squirming) Blackwall adeptly guided the struggle of wills towards the bed and Ellana, not having succeeded in her search for his weakness, had instead brought them both into a state of shirtlessness before they fell into a heap onto the mattress.

The playful ruckus from moments before became enveloping silence with the reveal of flesh and dawning of sudden mutual reverence. With Blackwall on his back under her, Ellana’s hands rubbed slowly over the sturdy planes of his chest. He was like no one she’d ever been with before and to her his body was a wonder. Old scars, jagged and razor thin alike, received a gentle tracing of her fingers and the elven woman seemed to actually  _revel_ in his chest hair. Every detail was a new discovery and she devoured his flesh with her eyes and hands. He had a reddish birthmark near a mole along his ribs. His waist was sturdy and thick and he had a delicious paunch around his middle. She began to slowly fall in love with every inch of him, even as he was caught up fully in  _her_. Ellana’s body arched subtly as his rough hands slid up her ribs and across the small rounds of her breasts. She was thin and muscled, narrow shoulders and small peaked breasts, yet his hands kneaded and gripped onto her fuller backside and meaty thighs. Blackwall worshipped every inch of her, his hands manipulating her movements so he could enjoy her lean muscles shifting under mohogany skin. Ellana murmured something like his name as his calloused thumbs brushed across her pert nipples but silenced her own pleased hiss by kissing him again. Beneath her straddling hips she could feel his arousal against her own. A testing shift of their bodies had them both grunting into the embrace as desire rippled hotly upwards through them.

Three sharp knocks echoed deafeningly into the stone room, breaking the sound of heavy breathing and shifting fabric.

Ellana shot upwards with a curse, one hand bracing against the man’s stomach. She looked wild for a moment, like prey in the sight of a hunter, and her elven eyes glowed in the dim evening light. Her shoulders jumped in alarm when another set of knocks were accompanied by a soft call.

“Inquisitor?”

The warden groaned and whispered a “Maker’s Balls…” as the Herald lifted herself from his hips. He took the time to adjust himself uncomfortably through his pants, an arm casting across his eyes as he attempted to calm. Ellana was huffy when she unfolded herself from atop him and picked up the first shirt she found (which turned out to be his.. she inhaled him for only a moment). She answered the door looking flushed, mildly annoyed and obviously in clothes not her own. “Yes?”

“Ah.. apologies, Your Grace.” A uniformed runner was holding a tray of fruit, bread and cheese. “Compliments of Lady Josephine.”

Ellana realized the young man’s eyes were glued to ceiling and a flush had risen in his cheeks. She became conscious of the thin material of the shirt and not hiding the roused state of her body and the hardened tips of her breasts beneath. A thin arm shot across her chest protectively before the Herald straightened, speaking loud so Blackwall would overhear. “Oh did she now? Well… bring it in then.”

Ellana wondered if the runner had misbehaved in some way to be sent into this ambush. He scuttled to set the tray down and extracted a bottle of wine from his pack in the process. He’d taken a full turn to leave the room before he noticed the elder warden lounging on the bed, a sheet now pulled self consciously across his middle.

“Ah.. Warden Blackwall.. sir…” There was a stammer and an awkward salute.

Blackwall’s lips pressed tightly together and the arm across his eyes lifted to run through his mussed hair. He gave a nod of acknowledgement complete with restrained tremors of laughter at the poor young man’s expense. 

The unexpected delivery perhaps had been a blessing. They’d decided,  _he’d asked_ , to take it slow and the pair of them were not doing a good job of keeping to it. He just needed to remember  _why_. He needed to do right by her. His lies and misdeeds had begun to pile up around him and Blackwall was determined to try, as best he could, to be the man she wanted. To even be here now was more than he deserved. To indulge with her, in her body or even in her laughter and company, was too good for his miserable soul. Ellana seemed to fill the empty broken parts of himself with a breath of life, a spark of hope, and just a taste of what perhaps could be more. She made him forget in each attentive smile, each tinkling laugh, that he wasn’t the good man she claimed him to be.

 _He shouldn’t be forgetting._  Perhaps when the inevitable time came, she’d remember him fondly.

The thought was sobering.

By the time the runner was gone (or fled) Ellana was calmer. The interruption had also reminded  _her_  of their accord.  _Take it slow_. The door was locked, bolted and then glared at before she rejoined her partner.

“Compliments of Josephine? I thought Leliana was the one with ears in the walls?” Ellana’s dusky brow rose as she grabbed the wine and made her way back to the bed.

“That,” Blackwall’s eyes shifted guiltily. “May have been my fault.” He slid to one side to make space, a silent agreement that perhaps pausing the action was a good idea. “I was looking for you. She suggested I come up here.”

The truth was that Ellana had confided her growing interest in the warden to Josephine. The ambassador was a good a friend with an ear for gossip and a bit of a romantic streak. If Blackwall had been asking after her, the Antivan had definitely set this up.

Ellana settled into the bed, resting into the crook of Blackwall’s arm and leaning into his chest. She sipped straight from the wine bottle and said plainly. “She knows. I told her…” The bottle was offered to him and taken. “I told her I was.. ahh.. interested in you.”

“No wonder she was so quick about it.” Blackwall snorted. “She looked like the cat who’d got the canary when I asked if she’d seen you.” He took a drink now, resting the bottle on his knee. The warden’s heavy brows rose in a amusement. “I was a bit worried about the ease in which this  _odd woodsman_  gained access to the Herald’s chambers.”

Ellana laughed and placed a wine sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thankfully there’s only the one odd woodsman around.”

The wine was passed again and a comfortable silence settled for a few precious moments. It was quiet and easy, appreciated on both sides. Whatever stress of anxiousness either of them had felt building up to this moment seemed to have completely dissolved away. Ellana’s head settled back against his shoulder and Blackwall’s fingers ran idly across a small patch of skin on her waist he’d found under the oversized shirt. The older man found the quiet to be oddly comforting and once again she’d led him to a place where he could forget his regrets and mistakes, if only for a little while.

“I must say m’lady.” His stormy eyes glittered at her and a shiver ran up Ellana’s spine. “You look much better in that shirt than I ever have.”

“If me wearing it keeps it off of you,” the elven woman retorted with a grin and one hand settled on his bare chest while the other attempted to hike the overly large collar up. Instead the fabric simply slid to the side and bared one of her shoulders. “I’ll wear all of your shirts.”

The response was a kiss, easy and slow and thankful.

“The beard doesn’t bother you as much as I’d feared.” Blackwall sounded genuinely surprised and Ellana looked just as surprised to hear it.

“I think it’s brilliant!” The elf bounced, almost hopped, and the wine was set aside so she could kneel next to him on the bed. Her thin hands outstretched to slide across his face, to sift into the beard and scratch along his jaw. The Inquisitor grinned to herself as Blackwall lifted his chin and closed his eyes like a pleased housecat. He hummed appreciation.

“Elven men don’t usually have beards. Or chest hair.” There was a sudden matter of fact way she followed it, “I’ve only been with elves.” Her large eyes locked onto him, as if waiting to hear that this was an issue or a problem or, well,  _anything_. To be frank, she was waiting to wake up from this dream and be back in the tub wondering about his intentions.

“I’ve never been with any other  _Heralds_.” Blackwall teased only to be pinched in the side by the woman hard enough to have him bark and laugh.”Or elves.” 

The truth was that he hadn’t allowed himself the time or attention for women in a long time. A self imposed punishment, the kind of suffering he could inflict upon himself and survive. It had been  _years_.  His worries and doubts secretly piled up in the back of his mind. Was he physically enough? Could he satisfy? She was young, beautiful and vivacious. Did she truly want an old, pent up fool?

“Really?”

“Really.” As his chuckling died down the man softened, his palm resting against her cheek. She tilted her face into it before his fingertips moved to brush along her lips, trace the line of her jaw and slide back to run the shell of her pointed ear. Ellana visibly trembled. 

“Oho.. Do  _not_  open that can of worms, my dear warden.” She breathed as his fingers paused. “Not unless you plan on throwing that  _request_  of yours right out the window.” The Herald’s eyes darkened slightly and she licked her lips.

“Noted…” Blackwall murmured. The urge to do it again itched at his fingers but instead he cradled her head for another gentle kiss. The hand against her bare scalp suddenly flared her own self doubt. Ellana pulled his hands from her and held them between both of hers. The rogue’s fingers were nimble and strong, and she held him surprisingly tight.

“You don’t mind.. about..?” He looked confused that he would mind anything. Ellana’s eyes rolled upwards and then met his. “About me being..”

“An elf?” Blackwall puzzled.

“No.. well yes. But.. no.” She sighed and muttered something in elvish that sounded like a curse. “I’m being stupid.” Ellana was thin. She wasn’t buxom.  _She was bald_. She’d never had anyone besides her parents say she was beautiful. Her own insecurities clung still, from back with the clan where even the elven girls were favored for their subtle curves, bosom size or the elaborate ways they styled their hair. Thankfully being the Inquisitor didn’t mean she needed to be graceful or beautiful, but being a paramour brought a whole new set of expectations.

Her eyes met his when she felt broad, warm hands on her cheeks. His hooded gaze met hers and he suddenly wore the most honest and earnest expression she’d ever seen on his face. Her own adoration struck hard again, a tightness that lodged in her chest and throat, and she was frozen by his eyes.

“You’re the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met. Lovelier to me than whomever you’re measuring yourself up against. I’m -” His voice had adopted that pained, apologetic tone. It was the one that had secrets behind it, the one from the hill on the coast, the one from the ramparts that told her this wouldn’t work. It was the voice that spoke of unworthiness, the very thing she’d requested he stop saying. Instead he settled on something lamer, floundering weak words that hardly could encompass how he felt. “You could have anyone and… well I am a lucky man, my lady.”

His words flooded her with warmth and unsure how to handle the compliments Ellana simply diverted her wide green eyes as her cheeks darkened. He was either more intuitive than she expected or she was just as transparent as she felt, but Blackwall’s words were exactly what she needed, “Thank you.”

After a moment she escaped her own awkwardness by sliding from the bed with distracted commentary. “I was packing a pipe when you came in.” Her feet were silent on the floor over to the fireplace, eyes catching in the dusky light again to shine. He wasn’t sure when he’d get used to that, the cutting shimmer of elven eyes in darkness, but it made her seem more wild and free, even here behind castle walls, and both were traits that had drawn him to her in the first place.

“My father will shit his smalls..” Ellana padded back with the pipe in hand and a small leather pouch of leaf which she set on the table. She made a face for a moment as her eyes fell on the sheet Blackwall had pulled across his waist. The elf joined him again, legs folding under her before she settled in. “To hear a castle full of shem,” the pipe was put between her lips, words now slipping from the corner of her mouth half-muffled. “ _my castle full of shem_ ,” her eyes danced and lips quirked as she lit the pipe and puffed. “Calling me ‘lady’!”

Blackwall noted immediately that this was not the same herb she’d been smoking the last time he’d seen her with a pipe. That had been light, almost fresh, and drifted away easily on the breeze. This instead billowed in thick puffy clouds when she toked it and the air filled with a heady rich scent. He accepted the pipe when offered, taking a moment to appreciate that it was hand made, the stem long and delicate, worn smooth and shiny from oft use. The smoke drifted like a liquid ripple, a near tangible cascade that rolled out of her mouth. She seemed oblivious to his glance, just enjoying the act, and Blackwall spied the slowest undulation of her pink tongue against the smoke still drifting between her lips. He’d never wanted so badly to taste her, meet her mouth through the sweet heavy smoke and simply sink, the both of them, into the haze of it. Instead he licked his lips, swallowed, and took a hit of the pipe. It tasted similar to what he was used to and made him think of whiskey, taverns and his feet up by the fire. The herb retained a fresh herbal tinge that told him it was elven. Some of the held smoke wisped from his nostrils and wafted upwards to hang around them, never rising higher than the crowns of their heads. It hung like a fog, even after only a few puffs.

Within moments Blackwall had closed his eyes and tilting his head back, blew the remaining smoke upwards and away from them. How long since he could enjoy a pipe? How long since he allowed himself the time to relax or felt he deserved any small modicum of distraction? Even now it was hard to justify.

Ellana tried to settle back against him but made a slightly disgruntled sound and started to pull the sheet away from his waist. The warden shifted to accommodate her efforts, amused as she muttered, “None of this nonsense..” The elf huffed with satisfaction when the cloth came free and she settled again, stretching out her legs (she flexed her toes individually, one after another, and he found it oddly adorable) before she rested her hand on his now bare belly. Blackwall watched as the slim fingers ran over the fur of his stomach. It almost tickled but laughing would have given her too much satisfaction after their previous battle.

“So..” The lightness, the head-in-the-clouds moment that struck when one hadn’t indulged in anything for a long time, drifted away but the effect of the pipe wasn’t gone. His body unwound and muscles relaxed. The woman next to him seemed to become equally boneless and the pipe was set aside. His large hand slid over hers on his stomach, work worn fingers stopping her petting by lacing with hers. Blackwall’s voice took the most minor hint of concern. “Your.. father?”

“Ohhh… haha..” Ellana chuckled in immediate realization. If whatever this was with him continued, he’d inevitably be meeting her family. Later. After they won. After the world was saved. “And brothers.” She coyly met his eyes and smiled.

“Andraste’s ass..” Blackwall muttered darkly. His dark brows bobbed hopefully, “No mother to charm with fine manners and chivalry?”

“Mmnn.” Ellana’s head shook in dissent. “Seven years passed, I’m afraid.” She lifted her head to smirk though, lopsided and devilish, a look she used as a weapon as often as her daggers. “She definitely would have appreciated the fine manners and chivalry. Even from an  _oafish shemlen_.”

“Oafish?!” Blackwall huffed playfully, “Well that’s it. You’ve been talking to Dorian too much..”

Ellana tugged his arm and laughed, shouldering him gently. “How about a wager?”

“Leaping from Dorian to a wager?” Blackwall’s brows lifted with interest. “What do you propose?”

“Winner chooses the prize.” Her head quirked.

“High stakes.” He approved.

“Well I was going to bet on who found out about… this… first.” She leaned to tap out her pipe in a shallow dish beside the bed. Even while settled she seemed to always find something to do, some task for her clever little fingers. “But Josephine already knows. Dorian’s been giving me suggestive darting glances towards you for about a week.” She said it all very casually. “And that runner was here… perhaps 10 minutes ago?”

Blackwall murmured in an over the top foreboding voice, his ‘all-the-beards’ voice, deep and impactful. “Half the castle already knows.”

It made her laugh as she blew gently on the inside of the pipe to clear it out. “Exactly.”

“So what did you have in mind?” When the elf leaned back, Blackwall’s large hand was extended to ask for the pipe. She handed it over without a thought for his inspection. He turned it over between his fingers, admiring craftsman ship and wondering how she’d come by it. 

“I bet you that Bull and Dorian  _will…_ ” Her brows bobbed up and down.

Blackwall burst out with a disbelieving guffaw that heaved his whole chest. He then clutched a hand to his forehead as if the very thought were causing him pain. “The Iron Bull and  _Dorian_? You are a twisted woman.” He laughed. “They haven’t stopped bickering about Tevinter-Qun politics since you took them on! If the Vint thinks that _I_ smell…” he snorted. “How would that even…..” The warrior made strange little-big hand mashing motions a moment that she chuckled at and swatted away.

“It’s going to happen.” Ellana said cooly, arms crossing over her chest. “So, sure, I’m wagering on it. What is it that Bull so sagely says? Go big or go home?”

“Alright my dear.” Blackwall still chuckled at the essentially harmless arrangement and held his hand for a shake. “I’ll take that wager.” He doubted he’d be losing out on either end of the deal.

Ellana gripped him for a shake only to pulled instead into a kiss. Any tensity in her body seemed to drift away when large arms encircled her and she pressed her palms flat against his warm chest. She savored the slow kiss as long as it held, playfully parting her lips and sighing. He seemed devour the sound with a satisfied grunt that broke the embrace. They both took deep steadying breaths.

“You’re staying the night.” She’d set her head on his chest, ear to his heart. Blackwall recognized her tone, solid and authoritative. It was such a contrast to her usually lightness. “The Herald commands it.”

Varric called it her ‘Inquisitor Voice’.

“Yes, Your Grace.” His Warden Voice.

Her felt her relax under his palms. Between the wine, the pipe, the fire and this beautifully warm woman, Blackwall was in danger of drifting off. His eyes had already closed.

“Blackwall?”

“Mm?” He felt lips move against his chest, gentle breath over his skin.

“Your name.”

“Blackwall.” He said firmly, eyes cracking for a single heartbeat that froze in his chest. But Ellana huffed a laugh and his panic slid away.

“Your  _given_  name.”

“Mmmmm..” He smirked suddenly. “You have to guess.”

“What?” She swatted him half heartedly. Ellana was also fading, drunk on comfort.

“Perhaps you’ll guess before the Vint and Qunari are bumping uglies.” He snorted, still confident in his side of their bet.

“Robert.”

“No.”

“Liam.”

A shake of dissent.

A long pause.

“Jean.” Then a soft wondering murmur.  _“Shem names.. shem names..”_

He yawned.

She yawned.

“Dorian.. Cullen.. Varric..”

“You’re just naming your friends now..” His words were heavy now, his voice rumbling low as the Fade called to him. Both of their bodies seemed to be sliding flatter and flatter into the bed. Where they had been sitting, the pair was now laying, sprawled.

“I’m no good at this. Guessing. Thing.” The Inquisitor valiantly rallied the rest of her strength to pull herself up and blow out the nearest candle. Only the fire burned now.

Blackwall’s arms closed around her as they rolled to the side. Both relished the way they fit together. He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Sleep on it.”


End file.
